


Law Of The Jungle

by nerbert



Series: The Strength Of The Wolf Is The Pack [1]
Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Magical Realism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-05
Updated: 2017-05-08
Packaged: 2018-10-28 06:44:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10825920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nerbert/pseuds/nerbert
Summary: Conor is a hockey player who also happens to be a werewolf. It makes life interesting.





	1. Chapter 1

When a human being is bitten by a werewolf, the chances of them surviving the first few moons stands at roughly sixty percent. The older and stronger the victim is, the more likely they are to fight through until the condition stabilises within its host. When a short and slight thirteen year old Conor Sheary was bitten by an unknown werewolf on a family camping trip, the likelihood he would make it through the month were thin at best. But then again, Conor has always been one to exceed expectations.

 

The harsh truth he learnt within the first few days was that there was no cure for Lycanthropy. The specialist doctor who sat patiently with him and his parents in hospital had explained that no, there was no cure but there were new and effective treatments that would make his condition manageable. The doctor had sized him up then and there in his hospital gown and Conor could tell what he was thinking immediately.

 

_This one won't make it long enough for treatment to work._

 

Perhaps it was the mixture of natural-born stubbornness and hormone induced fury, but Conor knew he had to prove this doctor wrong. So he did. He made it through months of agony that tore the ligaments from his bones and stitched them together into a new form every full moon. He'd return back to himself when the night was over, exhausted and often bloodied. For a long time, his skin was grey and his eyes remained a sickly yellow. Still, Conor grit his teeth and did his best not to whine or complain. If he screamed and cried himself hoarse into his pillow at night, that was his business.

 

Finally, after half a year, the doctor seemed convinced that Conor wasn't going to keel over and die. He kept telling Conor how lucky he was for someone of his age to survive the process, as if luck had anything to do with it. Where was luck when the hulking beast had sunk its teeth into his soft fleshy shoulder and left without a trace? No, Conor had decided very early that very little about him was lucky. He was angry, and hurt, and tired, and stubborn, but he refused to be lucky.

 

He was finally allowed into treatment that gave him an assortment of strange pills that would further stabilise himself in wolf form. He learnt how to control his body again. He went back to his ordinary life of school and friends and hockey and he began to feel like he was the same person he always had been except for that one night a month he became a monster, but then he learnt to control that too.

 

Hockey, as it turned out, became part of his treatment. His teenager and wolf hormones all worked in his favour when he put his skates on. He channelled his aggression into skating harder and faster. He still wasn't big enough to really hit the other boys back, but it wasn't a problem if he skated fast enough they couldn't catch him.

 

"You got good instincts out there, kid." his sister told him after a game they won 4-0. "I reckon if you're lucky you could go pretty far."

 

He rolled his eyes, even if deep down he knew that would always be his dream.

 

 

 

As years go by, life as a werewolf doesn't necessarily become easier, but it definitely gets more manageable. It becomes routine. Preparing for a full moon isn't that different from preparing for a game. You go through the motions, assess what could go better, and plan for next time. Conor can be a good student when he needs to be. He knows himself well enough by now to pick up the subtle changes in his body that ready himself for a long and rough night.

 

It starts with a wave of nausea that hits him three days before a full moon. It feels like a sucker punch to the gut, but it's been years since it was bad enough to make him throw up. Now, it's no more than a discomfort that hits him in the middle of practice.

 

"You all good?" Tommy asks between drills.

 

"Yeah," Conor nods and continues to breathe deeply through his nose. He's a little shaky but he's fine. This stage never lasts long.

 

Two days before full moon, his senses begin to sharpen again. Most noticeably smells become stronger and he can hear a lot better. His eyesight for the most part seems to stay the same which is fine. It means he doesn't have to explain why he suddenly doesn't need glasses a few days each month. His night vision does get better though, which is a plus. Especially when Matt drops his phone down the side of his seat in the middle of an overnight flight. He's got the phone out before Matt can reach up to switch on the overhead lamp and look for it.

 

"Ah, thanks man." He gives Conor a smile and returns to his game of solitaire. 

 

That's really the extent of his usefulness as a werewolf. He doubts they'd be letting him play hockey if it made him stronger or faster. He doesn't know if they're any other werewolves in the league. If there are, he supposes they keep it secret like he does. The coaches and team doctors all know about his 'condition' but so far Conor hasn't told anyone on the team.  Even after all these years, the 'explaining to your team you're a werewolf' conversation is never easy.

 

The day of the full moon is when Conor really starts to get restless. His skin begins to itch and his wolf-like metabolism kicks in. But really, it doesn't feel so different to game day nerves. It always feels like a double up when he has games on full moon nights. There's a rush of adrenaline and excitement mixed with a pang of anxiety and dread. Over the years full moons have become more manageable, but there's always pain. There's always a doubt in Conor's head that wonders if everything will go wrong this time. He does his best to ignore it and focus on what he can control.

 

Before warm ups he stops by the team doctors' office for his shot. It's a relatively recent breakthrough, an injection that can temporarily stave off the process of transformations on full moons long enough for Conor to play on game nights without having to worry  about shifting form in the middle of it. The effects of the shot are only temporary, enough time for him to make it back home and shift safely away from his team.

 

Conor is still in his Under Armor, which makes it easier to roll up his sleeve while Doctor Sundholm gets everything set up. Sundholm has overseen managing Conor's Lycanthrope medication since he came up from Wilkes-Bare. Not every full moon falls on a game night, but it's happened often enough to both for them to be used to the process. There's the slight sting of the needle, and a tingling sensation that flows through his arm for a minute, but that quickly fades. Conor closes his eyes and breathes in the sterile sent of his surroundings. Doctor Sundholm gives him a moment to collect himself when Conor notices a new, yet familiar scent in the air.

 

He opens his eyes and catches a glimpse of Sid shuffling awkwardly past the doorway. He has his eyes turned down as if he was caught looking at something he wasn't meant to have seen. Conor can sense a quick pang of anxiety, or maybe guilt that dispels as quickly as it came.

 

"You're all good to go, Conor" Sundholm tells him. Conor says a quick thank you and hurries back to the dressing room.

 

Sid is back in there by the time Conor arrives, looking unfazed and as ready to play hockey as usual. He looks up at Conor for a second, before returning to taping his socks. There's still a slight tingling sensation left in Conor's fingers, and a buzzing in his ears but he doesn't have time to worry about any of that. He's got hockey to play.

 

The game, for the most part, goes well. It's a comfortable home game win and Conor racks up a primary assist on a goal from Sid. Any weirdness in the locker room doesn't translate between them out here and for that Conor feels immense relief. He loves playing on a line with Sid. He loves the challenge that comes with it.

 

There's always noise and excitement on home ice, but on nights he plays with a full moon, Conor always feels it's a little louder. The wind whipping past his ears a little faster. When he lines up the perfect pass for Sid to burry glove side, the victory tastes just a little sweeter.

 

"Not bad, eh Shears?" Sid smiles at him when they're back on the bench. Conor shrugs and grins back.

 

Everyone is in high spirits when they're changing out of their gear after the win. Chirps fly back and forth easily and Conor laughs along with everyone else. He feels good, but he knows the effects are starting to wear off. There's an itch under his skin again. He stops by Doctor Sundholm ' office on the way out, just for one last check over.

 

"Everything looks fine," She tells him. "You good to drive home?"

 

Conor nods. Doctor Sundholm gives him the all clear and he's on his way out of the doctor's office when he spots Sid again out the corner of his eye. He's standing in the hallway and Conor realises he's going to have to walk past him to get to the carpark. He's a few meters away, but his wolf senses can still pick up a few things. He can tell Sid is calm but there's none of the cheeriness he had earlier. Conor sighs and starts walking.

 

"Hey," Sid looks up as he approaches. "Everything good?"

 

"Yeah," Conor tries for a convincing smile. Tonight is really not a good night to put off getting home.

 

"Okay." Sid's eyes dart towards the doctor's office.

 

Conor keeps walking, Sid falls into step next to him. He can almost predict what Sid is about to say next before he even opens his mouth. It's something he'd heard in his first few weeks when he was called up.

 

"You can tell me, you know, if you have any problems." Sid says, an invisible 'C' always on his chest. Conor sighs. He can't imagine Sid finds it comforting to see his line mate going into the doctor's before and after games. The easiest way to reassure him would be an explanation, but….

 

"It's not really a problem. Well, I mean it kind of is, but it's nothing I can't handle." The injection really must be starting to wear off, because he highly doubts any of that made sense. Sid gives him a blank expression.

 

"I'm not sure you'd believe me if I told you." He remembers it took some of his best friends weeks to come around. Some friends never did.

 

"You could try."

 

Conor takes in a deep breath.

 

"I'm a werewolf."

 

"What?" Sid immediately lets out a snort of laughter.

 

"No, I'm serious."

 

"Seriously?" Sid stops walking for a second to look Conor dead in the eye. "You turn into a wolf and everything?"

 

"Seriously."

 

"Can I see?"

 

That's not what Conor had expected him to say at all and as it sounds crazy, and Conor is willing to admit that, but it's not a bad idea. He could spend the next half an hour explaining every tedious detail until Sid runs out of questions and decides to believe this isn't all a weird joke, or he could just show him. It's a full moon anyway. He has his transformations under control.

 

"Yeah, I probably could. But not here."

 

So that's how Conor ends up following Sid's car back to his house. It's a cloudy night, which means Conor has enough resistance to stave off transforming a little longer. He's parks on Sid's street and stretches out his legs once he's out the car. It will begin soon, he can feel it.

 

"So…how does this happen exactly?" Sid is watching him from a few meters away near the front door.

 

Conor rattles off a quick explanation as he follows Sid inside. The medication he takes stops him from losing his mind when he transforms. It means he still has conscious control of himself, and it means for the most part he's harmless.

 

Sid shakes his head. "This really isn't a joke huh?"

 

He's lead Conor out to the backyard, where Conor has stripped out of his jacket and tie. He should probably get out of the rest of his suit if he doesn't want them ruined. He hesitates for a moment, but given the fact he's shared a locker room with Sid and the rest of the team snaps him out of his self-consciousness. The clouds are starting to clear up and Conor can feel the moon rays tingling on his bare skin. He takes a deep breath, and on the exhale he allows himself to let go.

 

There's the ache as his jaw clicks out of place and the sharp sting as he knees caps snap. He drops onto all fours and heat crawls across his skin like a rash. The worst part is his hands, that warp and bend beyond recognition. By that point Conor closes his eyes and keeps forcing air into his contracting lungs. When the transformation is over, he opens his now amber coloured eyes.

 

Sid is standing at a distance again, watching on in equal horror and amazement. As far as werewolves go, Sid imagines Conor can't be a very big one. He's still big enough to be dangerous. His fur is a muddy cream colour with grey markings and dark brown tips on his ears and tail. The wolf -Conor- stretches out his legs and takes a few careful steps towards him. Sid notices Conor's ears pointed attentively in Sid's direction.

 

"Shears? Can you hear me."

 

He nods, and woofs quietly.

 

"Holy Shit." He whispers, and Conor comes close enough for Sid to reach out and touch. His fur is soft and thick, but he doesn't try to pat him. That would be way too weird. Several questions pop into his mind at once, and Sid realises it's probably too late to ask him now, being a wolf and all.

 

Sid is trying to consider a way around that particular hurdle, when there's a loud buzzing from inside the house. Conor's head snaps in the direction of the noise, tilting to the side in confusion. If he was a regular dog, and not a werewolf Sid might call it cute.

 

"That's the door, I think." Sid frowns. He wasn't expecting anyone to drop by tonight, let alone someone who knows his gate key code. "I'll just…go check."

 

He hurries back into the house, hoping Conor doesn't follow him. He hesitantly opens the front door, to see Geno hunched over on his door step. He gives Sid a tired smile.

 

"Uh, hey Geno. It's kinda late." Sid says, not letting Geno inside.

 

"You not get my text?"

 

Sid sighs to himself. His phone has been switched off on the kitchen table this whole time.

 

"Is okay, just need to get the spare key. Lost mine."

 

"Oh right," Sid remembers Geno keeps a spare house key here just in case. Because Geno used to keep his spare key underneath a pot plant, but Sid protested that it wasn't a smart idea. So Geno keeps it with Sid instead. Of course, he ended up needing that key on tonight of all nights. "Yeah, I'll get that for you."

 

It's in a drawer in his kitchen. He moves away from the door and Geno follows him inside before he can think to protest. It's not like Sid can just tell him to wait outside. Sid rushes into his kitchen, Geno following behind at a much more leisurely place. He manages to find the key in record time, but when he goes to hand it to Geno he immediately knows something is wrong.

 

"Sid, why is there dog in your yard?" Geno is looking out, right where Conor is sniffing around on the grass outside and definitely not out of sight.

 

"Uh," Sid panics. "I'm looking after my neighbour's dog. While they're out of town."

 

Geno's face immediately lights up, and before Sid can think of an excuse to keep him away, he's already making his way out the back door. Sid reluctantly follows him out, watching as Geno squats down and whistles at the dog that is very much not a dog.

 

Conor stops in his tracks, deliberately not coming any closer.

 

"Who's Name?" Geno asks.

 

Sid's mind races. He can't say Conor, because that seems like a really weird name for a pet that could give rise to more questions. His second best idea is Sam, but that's his own dog's name and Geno knows that. So he goes with the next name that comes to mind.

 

"Uh. Fred."

 

"Cute!" Geno smiles because of course he does. He then proceeds to try and call out that name several times and coax him over.

 

Conor looks up at Sid, ears pressed flat to his head and clearly unimpressed. Sid mouths 'sorry' to him behind Geno's back and quietly begs him to go along with this. Conor reluctantly walks forward until Geno reaches over to pat him.

 

"Fur so soft!" He tells Sid.

 

Sid watches Conor wag his tail slowly, in a convincing effort to be a regular dog. Sid notices in the soft light how much Conor really is large and very wolf like. Thankfully, Geno doesn't seem to realise anything strange, all his attention wrapped up in the cuteness of the animal in front of him. Sid's eyes wonder for a moment and land on the folded pile of Conor's game day suit by the back door.

 

Fuck. If Geno sees that, that'll be another question. One Sid really won't know how to answer. Conor picks up on Sid's panic in a way animals always seem to sense it, his bright eyes flicker over to Sid. Geno is too busy scratching him under his chin to care.

 

"Distract him." Sid mouths silently to Conor. Judging by the way his ears flatten out again in a stern line on his head Sid guesses he got the message.

 

Luckily, Conor is pretty good thinking on his feet. He found an old tennis ball in the garden bed when he was sniffing around before. He dashes across the grass away from Geno to go and find it again. Conor really isn't sure he wants the old and mangy ball in his mouth, but he swallows his pride and carries it back to Geno.

 

"You want fetch?" Geno asks excitedly, and Conor drops the ball at his feet. Geno throws the tennis ball across the yard, and Conor dutifully chases it. Alright, he'll admit it is a little nice to stretch out his legs and run. He doesn't often get to be outside much most full moons. He brings the tennis ball back for Geno to throw a few more times, and on the third try he even manages to catch the ball right out of mid-air. He's a little proud of himself for that, until Geno calls him a 'good boy' and he remembers again just how degrading this is.

 

Sid sneaks back into the yard, pile of Conor's clothes safely out of sight. Finally, in an act of mercy he clears his throat and hands Geno his key. Geno seems reluctant to leave, but the idea of crashing in his own bed as soon as possible overwhelms his need to interact with Sid's neighbour's 'dog'. He leaves, but nor before pulling out his phone and snapping a selfie of him and Conor, still completely unsuspecting. He pats his head one final time and Conor does his best to resist the urge to bite at his hand.

 

Sid leaves to show him back to the front door and reappears a minute later looking and smelling extremely guilty.

 

"I am so sorry about that."

 

Conor does his best to give Sid his most unimpressed look in wolf form as he follows him back inside the house.

 

 

 

He wakes up the next morning back in his human body in one of Sid's guest bedrooms. He'd managed to get himself under the covers sometime before falling asleep, as he's still woken up completely naked. Thankfully, Sid seems to have left an old pair of sweats out for him. They're a little big, but they'll do just fine.

 

It's still early when we walks out into the living room, but he find's Sid in the kitchen cooking up breakfast. Conor's stomach rumbles gratefully when Sid passes him over a greasy plate off eggs, bacon and pancakes. It's probably not the healthiest breakfast, but Conor always craves a few extra calories after a full moon, so he wastes no time in digging in. Sid sits across the breakfast bar and watches Conor between sips of orange juice.

 

"So I guess you have some questions."

 

"A few." Sid admits. "But I imagine it gets pretty tiring repeating the whole story, so I'll just ask this: does it affect hockey?"

 

If it had been anyone else, someone Conor didn't know better, he'd think it to be an accusation. _Does it affect hockey? Does it make you better than you should be? How are you cheating? Is that how you made it this far?_ But he knows Sid, knows the tone in his voice isn't one of suspicion, but of curiosity. Perhaps even concern.

 

"Not really. Playing hockey around full moons can be a little tricky, but I'm used to it. I feel a little different, can sense different things at times, but out on the ice it's all the same. When I was younger I kind of liked that, on the ice I felt just like everyone else."

 

Sid smiles. He doesn't say it, but he understands. Not always, but sometimes it really felt that way. Growing up and navigating life could be hard and frustrating and mundane, but for Sid playing hockey made him feel like something else. People told him he was special, even if he didn't always believe them. He never wanted to take it for granted, but standing out was hard too. It changed from day to day. Sometimes hockey was the effortless magic, connecting with team mates and feeling right at home. Other times it was parents and all kinds of people heckling him from behind the glass and an unsteady feeling that if he didn't work hard enough he would never belong. He always tried to focus on the former.

 

Conor reminds him just how different playing hockey can be, can feel, can mean. It's not the first time he's thought about how different their walk through life has been.

 

He continues to explain to Sid the more technical side of living as a werewolf; the routine, what he does and what he takes to control his condition. The strangest part about it all is how normal it feels. It's so easy for the words to fall out of Conor's mouth, like they were discussing any other aspect of their game. Sid listens and only interrupts sparingly when a new question comes to mind. Above all, Conor is grateful he doesn't ask why he keeps being a werewolf a secret.

 

"So, what can I do to help?" Is what Sid finally asks, and Conor thinks for a moment.

 

"Well, the biggest problem is away games. I've only had a full moon on a road trip a couple of times, but shifting in a hotel room kind of sucks. Especially when I'm trying to hide it from the other guys. Next full moon is on a roadie."

 

Sid's brain immediately starts turning cogs. He can work with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk why i wrote this other than to just fuck about but then I kept thinking about it and my fingers just kept typing so who knows where this will go?
> 
> Does this fit any where in to a real life timeline? Nope not at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Twenty nine days later, Conor and the rest of the Pittsburgh Penguins find them on a plane Florida bound. It's not a game night, but given the fact they'll be in a sealed off cabin thousands of feet in the air, Doctor Sundholm gave him a transforming delay shot anyway. Werewolves loose on a plane sounds like a great movie but a terrible idea.

 

As soon as they take off the run way, Conor is immediately grateful. His heightened senses are beginning to play up in the high altitudes. The droning of the engines screams in Conor's ears and the recycled air is beginning to smell stale and unnatural. He's already taken aspirin, but it's yet to kick in.

 

Sid sends a glance his way every now and then from his seat up near the front of the plane, but he doesn't say anything. Conor is grateful, he doesn't really feel like talking. He'd love to take a quick in-flight nap, but the full moon is making him restless. Instead, he watches half an episode of _Breaking Bad_ on his computer until Matt drags him over for a game of cards.

 

It's in the third round of poker that Conor notices something. He can hear the way Scott's heart beat suddenly begins to speed up as he raises the call. His eyes catch the way his hands twitch ever so slightly. Conor realises he's bluffing. Now perhaps if Conor was a poker shark like some of the other guys on the team, he could use this to his advantage. But his mind is all over the place tonight, and he's pretty shit at poker, so he ends up losing anyway.

 

Conor feels immense relief when they land down on solid ground again. He's tired and a little antsy on his way to the hotel, but everyone else is in high enough spirits not to pick up on it. Once he's got his key, he heads straight to his room, politely declining a couple of offers to check out the pool from the guys as he goes.

 

Sid follows him up in the elevator. There's a copy of his room key with Sid, just in case anything happens. He nudges Conor's shoulder on the way past when the elevator doors open.

 

"If you need anything,"

 

"I got it, it's fine." Conor gives a reassuring smile.

 

When he makes it down the hall, he shuts and locks the door behind him. He takes a moment to himself to breathe deeply and collect himself, before he pulls off his tie and gets to work.

 

 

It's an hour later, and Sid is in his room when he hears a ruckus in the hallway.

 

"Come on, Shears! Open up!" There's the loud thud of someone banging on a door. Sid is up on his feet quickly as he goes to peak his head out into the hall.

 

There's a small gang of the Wilkes-Barre guys huddled outside Conor's door. Shit.

 

"What's up, guys?" Sid asks as he walks over.

 

"Conor's got my phone charger, I'm just getting it back from him." Matt explains.

 

"You can borrow mine." Sid offers. "I think he went to bed. He said he's not feeling well."

 

The baby pens all frown at Sid. Shit.

 

"He's not sick, is he?"

 

"No, no, I think it's fine. A headache or something." Sid says over the sound of Scott knocking loudly on Conor's door again.

 

"Guys, come on, he's fine," Sid tries to say, but he's cut off by a loud bang and a yelp from the other side of the door. A very non-human yelp.

 

"Shears? You alright in there?"

 

There's no response. Sid feels himself begin to panic.

 

Then, he hears a low whimpering noise.

 

"Conor?"

 

"What the fuck?"

 

"Should we call management or something?"

 

"No," Sid says. "I've got this." He heads back towards his room. He's got Conor's key card in the drawer by his bed. The guys follow him a few steps back, confused and a little hesitant. A few more guys have appeared in the hallway, watching on curiously. Hags and Horny still in their board shorts from the pool, and Geno's head is poking out already ruffled with bed head. When Sid pulls out the key card, Rusty asks:

 

"Woah, do you have everyone's key?"

 

"Uh, no."

 

"Why do you have Conor's?"

 

Sid doesn't know how to answer that one. He slides the card into the nook and the door beeps and unlocks. The noise rouses a loud growling sound from what Sid assumes is Conor. It's weird, he's never heard Conor growl before, but it does sound pretty scary.

 

"Conor?" Sid whispers. He opens the door a fraction and peaks through. The hallway light leaks into the room, illuminating a pair of bright amber eyes.

 

"What the fuck?" Someone behind Sid whispers.

 

There's more growling, louder this time. Sid takes one step into the room, trying the block out the view from the others, but as soon as he moves there's a burst of action. The wolf bursts forward, like a coiled spring. He rushes at Sid, who has a split second to jump out of the way as he tears past the doorway and knocks past bodies into the hallway.

 

There's an explosion of noise as everyone begins to shout at the sight.

 

"WHAT THE FUCK?!"

 

"DID A WOLF EAT HIM?"

 

In the bright light of the hallway, Conor freezes in fear, surrounded on all sides by people. His tail is low between his legs. His pupils are huge, darting all over the place. He's making a low growling noise again. Sid notices the ginger way he's holding up his white socked front paw. There's blood on the carpet. Everyone continues to yell, but no one approaches him.

 

Among the chaos Geno stumbles over towards Sid, deeply confused.

 

"Sid," he says just loud enough to be heard with all the noise. "Why is neighbour's dog in Florida?"

 

Shit.

 

 

 

Conor wakes up naked, which, after all these years isn’t so unusual. What is unusual is the tight wrap of cloth around his left hand. He holds his hand up to the light, and uses his other to reach for his glasses on the bedside table, only they're not there. More Unusualness, and then a knock at the door.

 

Conor grabs some sweatpants before answering. Sid is on the other side, fully dressed and looking guilty.

 

"Hey. Feeling all right?"

 

"Yeah, I'm fine." He says, as Sid eyes off his bandaged hand. Conor fells uneasy, as if Sid is waiting to say something bad. He realises that something must have happened.

 

"What happened last night?"

 

"You don't remember?" Sid stops biting worriedly his lip to ask.

 

"It's a little blurry." Full moon shifts are like that. It's hard to keep his memories together, but usually it isn't this hard. Something is definitely wrong.

 

"What happened?" Conor moves out of the doorway so Sid can come in.

 

"Couple of the guys tried to see you last night, after you changed. I tried to stop them but, you started making these awful noises and I didn't have a choice. We think you knocked over your glasses and then stepped in the broken glass and you paw - hand- was bleeding and you panicked or something."

 

"Fuck."

 

"Yeah, uh. So the guys found out."

 

"All of them?"

 

"You ran out into the hallway and I couldn't stop them from seeing you. I'm really sorry."

 

"No one got hurt, did they?" Conor looks down at his hand. If anything happened, he doesn't know what he'd do with himself.

 

"No, no, we're all fine. We called over Sundholm  and he subdued you? Something like that. Took a look at your hand, he said the cut wasn't bad."

 

"So the guys all know?"

 

"I'm sorry. Sundholm explained it all to them."

 

"And they're okay with it?"

 

"Yeah, of course. I mean, it was a weird thing to explain but we all got there eventually."

 

Conor sighs. Not ideal, but manageable. Sid frowns.

 

"I know you didn't want them to find out like this. It wasn't your fault, it was an emergency. But trust me. It's all fine. I'm pretty sure at least half the guys thought it's pretty bad ass you're a werewolf."

 

"Seriously?" Conor laughs. He doesn't feel very bad ass right now.

 

"Seriously. You want to come down to breakfast then?"

 

Conor gets changed and tracks down his spare pair of glasses in his travel bag. He forgoes a quick shower than can wait until after but takes a peak at the cut on his hand. It's a little sore, but it's not about to stop him playing hockey if he can help it.

 

He rides back down the elevator with Sid. He's a little anxious, but he can take it in his stride. He still doesn't know what to expect when he enters the room full of his friends and team mates.

 

"Ruff night, Shears?" Horny says, jumping in to be the first to talk to Conor. There is a loud groan.

 

"Howl are you feeling?" Kuni is next. It dawns on Conor that there's no stopping this onslaught of dad jokes now.

 

"Don't listen to them," Dales pats him on the back. "They're all barking mad."

 

"Hey! Paws off!" Flower nudges Dales out of the way.

 

"Hound dare you?"

 

"They've been like this all morning." Tommy says darkly, sipping his coffee.

 

"Sorry," Conor smiles. "I wasn't a were"

 

There’s a solid two seconds of silence before they process what Conor said. As the room erupts in moans, Phil yells over the noise that the next pun will be punishable by fine. Conor reckons it would be worth it.

 

____

 

All in all, Conor is surprised by how the team takes the news. They make a truly awful amount of puns, and Dumo insists on playing 'dancing in the moonlight' in the locker room whenever he can, but they're all in good spirits. Like Sid said, a lot of them even find the whole werewolf thing kind of cool.

 

"Do you only transform on full moons? Or can you do it whenever?" Scotty asks him at the morning skate, everyone else listening in. The whole team is admittedly curious.

 

"I mean, I can whenever but it's a lot of effort and there's no real point."

 

"Does it hurt?"

 

"Yeah." Conor shrugs. "I'm used to it though."

 

"Dude, that's so fucking badass. You're like Wolverine."

 

The rest of the team all nods and murmurs in agreement. Conor laughs, he hasn't actually heard that before.

 

"Okay but how many other werewolves are out there? Are there others playing hockey?"

 

"I don't know. I'm pretty sure there aren't any others close by, I'd usually be able to tell." Conor scratches the side of his nose while someone says "nice."

 

He gets pulled aside later by Doctor Sundholm , who has some questions.

 

"You mentioned you don't remember much of what happened the other night."

 

Conor nods.

 

"We might need to take some tests when you get back, just to be safe. It might be nothing but it sounds like there could be a problem with the medication you're on."

 

"Is it bad?" Conor tries not to panic.

 

"At the moment everything is fine. This is just a precaution. If you have any other strange symptoms or anything else I should know about, tell me." She gives a reassuring smile.

 

Conor is quiet for the rest of the day. They play well that night, and are all in good spirits on the plane afterwards. Since that morning they've been laying off inundating Conor with questions. He reckons Sid might have something to do with that. Horny sneaks over into the empty seat beside Conor halfway through the flight.

 

"Hey," he smiles. "I just had one question."

 

Conor nods for him to continue.

 

"So, wild wolves live in packs right? What do werewolves do?"

 

"Some werewolves still live together in communities. It used to be a big tradition for us to live in packs before lycanthrope medicine got better. Back before all that werewolves needed to be bonded in packs so they could control themselves when they shift. It's a hormonal thing, or whatever. But know there's drugs for that, so I don't need to."

 

"Do you miss something like that?"

 

"Not really. I've never spent much time around other werewolves before. Besides, you guys are all crazy enough for me anyway."

 

Horny laughs and pats him on the shoulder.

 


	3. Chapter 3

A few weeks later, He's out to dinner with the rest of the WBS guys. It's a small, kind of crummy family restaurant but they make amazing grilled steaks. Conor is definitely a fan of the no-questions-asked attitude of the staff when he explains exactly how rare he wants his steak to be.

 

Tommy is in the middle of a hilarious and bizarre story back from his days in Wheeling when Conor notices something. A shift in the air. There's an earthy smell, like wood and something else. Something combustible.

 

"You good, Shears?" Matt asks quietly from the seat next to him.

 

"Yeah." Conor snaps out of his thoughts and shakes his head. He smiles back at Tommy, and tries to pay attention. He drifts off quickly again, the hairs on the back of his neck rising. The smell is getting stronger. He looks around the restaurant when he spots him. A man standing by the counter staring right at him. He's big, wearing muddy clothes and dirty brown hair tied back loosely from his face. Conor instinctually knows who he is.

 

"Conor." Someone said loudly, like they had been trying to get his attention for a while. He turns back to his friends again.

 

"Sorry, sorry." They all look at him concerned. "Okay, don't look now but there's a guy by the counter."

 

"Where?" Rusty immediately looks over, about as subtle as a rushing bull. Conor elbows him in the side.

 

"Ow."

 

"Guy in the leather jacket? What about him?" Matt says, quietly.

 

"He's looking at you." Scott murmurs.

 

"Yeah. He's a werewolf."

 

"Really?"

 

"Yeah, I can smell it."  Conor keeps his back to the werewolf, not daring to look over at him. He tries to ignore him and start up a conversation with the table again. It doesn't work very well until a few minutes later Scott reports that he's gone.

 

Conor doesn’t think too much of it. So what if there was a werewolf passing through? It’s not _that_ weird that he’s found one in the same city as himself, he reasons. It soon becomes easier to forget about the encounter as things in his own life begin to get stranger.

 

Thankfully, hockey remains the same. Hockey is going great. Conor feels like he’s really settling in to things this season and right now they’re running on a hot streak. It’s hard not to be happy when the rest of the team is in such high spirits. Conor scores a game winning goal in overtime one night, and is immediately crushed into a group hug the minute the goal horn sounds. Everyone is screaming in his ear and ruffling his hair and the crowd is going insane from behind the glass. On the ice Conor feels fucking fantastic.

 

Off the ice is a different story. For some reason, his hearing is acting up. It’s always been pretty good as a werewolf, but know he’s hearing things before they even happen. Sometimes all sounds come out like a harsh jumble of multiple voices. On top of that, his sense of smell is getting worse. It sounds creepy, but before he could tell his team mates apart by how they smell, but for some reason it’s getting harder. He tells all this to Doctor Sundholm, who frowns and makes note of it. They take some more blood tests.

 

“You good?” Sid asks, a few days out from a full moon. They’re on another overnight flight and Conor is feeling restless. The engines are louder than usual, the noise drilling into his ears and making him grind his teeth.

 

“Yeah, all good.” Sid can tell he’s lying, but he doesn’t say anything. “Just, flying all the time still sucks.”

 

Conor feels like an idiot for saying that. He’s complaining to Sid, who has been doing this for years.

 

“It gets easier.” Sid shrugs.

 

“Fuck I hate flying.” Phil groans a few rows away.

 

“Well, for the most part.”

 

“Anyone got Tylenol?”

 

Conor grabs his bottle out his bag and throws it over to Phil.

 

“Thanks, man. My head is killing me.”

 

Conor can relate to that.

 

 

 

Before their game, Sundholm pulls him aside.

 

“I’ve taken a look at your results from the tests we ran.” She hesitates.

 

“And?”

 

“They were unusual. Your regular hormones are within range but your body is producing an unusually large amount of lycanthrope hormones for an unbonded packless werewolf. It’s putting your body out of sync and making your medication less effective.”

 

“How does that even happen?” Conor frowns.

 

“It’s not something I’ve never seen before, and it’s likely incredibly rare. I doubt there is any danger to your health right now, but it’s important we understand your symptoms.”

 

Conor lists them off again for Doctor Sundholm.

 

“Could you describe how your sense of smell has changed?”

 

“I used to be able to tell the team apart.” Conor shuffles a little awkwardly. “I know, it feels weird but everyone has a specific smell, you know? But lately it’s hard.”

 

“Do I smell different to you?”

 

Conor sniffs the air and considers. “No. I can tell you’re you.”

 

Sundholm writes something down.

 

“I’ve called up a specialist to look over your results. One from the Lycanthrope Foundation might be able to help us.”

 

“Is it that bad?” Conor blanches. He hasn’t had contact with them since he was first bitten. After his first treatments, a Foundation member had visited him to explain how the whole werewolf thing worked. The Lycanthrope Foundation was founded by werewolves to register all known werewolves and keep balance in communities. They took his account and tried to track down the rogue werewolf who bit him, but nothing ever came back. Conor grew impatient with them quickly and has kept to himself since then. He’s aware they have specialist medical werewolves who are very knowledgeable on things like this. Probably the best in the world.

 

“No, not at this stage, but I don’t want to take any chances here. Is there anything else I should know that has happened lately?”

 

He hesitates. There was the werewolf at the restaurant the other night. Could he have something to do with this? They didn’t even talk…

“I think I saw another werewolf the other night when we were out. We didn’t talk or anything, does that matter?”

 

Sundholm writes something down again.

 

“It should be fine. You’re cleared to play.”

 

 

 

Conor feels great out on the ice. He’s alert, and he’s energetic. He’s excited to be out there. Then, he’s getting crushed against the boards by some unknown guy he can’t see because he back is turned. He pulls himself up on all fours on the ice when a deafening shout rings through his ears. From a few feet away Conor watches Sid rush up and throw a man down by his jersey. The crowd starts screaming and banging on the glass behind him as a ref skates over to pull the two apart. Sid is still yelling furiously.

 

The two of them go the penalty box as Conor makes his way back to the bench. He shrugs off the trainers and lets them know he’s all fine. Up on the screen he watches a replay of the hit. Conor hasn’t even hit the ice before Sid turns 180 degrees to throw himself at the player who boarded him. His gloves are off almost immediately.

 

“Holy shit.” Rusty says to himself, half impressed. Conor would be lying to say he wasn’t feeling that too, along with surprise. Sid isn’t exactly known for being a goon.

 

After the two minutes of four on four, Sid returns to the bench beside Conor.

 

“Okay?” Sid asks.

 

“Yeah, yeah. Everything okay with you?”

 

The corner of Sid’s mouth twitches before he goes back to his ‘game face’ frown.

 

“Wasn’t about to let him get away with that.”

 

Conor raises an eyebrow.

 

“What? It happened right in front of me. I don’t know, I just saw and wasn’t really thinking and jumped in there. It looked bad.”

 

“I’m fine.”

 

“Still, I just felt I had to do something. I know it was kinda stupid, but I just felt I had to. Does that make sense? But watching the four on four gave me an idea, actually. If I can get high in the slot and you-” Sid is off again in full hockey mode like nothing has happened. Conor settles back and listens to him ramble away until Sully gives them the nod to get back on the ice.

 

They end up winning the game. Conor and Sid both score. He doesn’t think of it as revenge. Okay, maybe a little.

 

It’s another full moon shift on a road trip, this time with very few complications. The guys all make jokes about his ‘time of the month’ and leave him to shift in his hotel room in peace. Someone even brought him raw steaks for dinner that night, which the Wolf form of Conor appreciated a great deal.

 

They play another road game and then they’re flying home again. Conor is looking forward to going home. He steps out the plane and breathes in the fresh, Pittsburgh air. It’s early morning, the sun is bright and surprisingly warm. Conor feels good today, his strange symptoms haven’t been too bad at all.

 

He’s walking back to his car alone, breathing in the cool (not recycled aeroplane) air when he senses a shift. There’s a new, strange smell but he swears he’s smelt before. Like earth, and wood, and something fiery. Like smoke. Conor freezes in his tracks. This can’t be a coincidence.

 

He smells the air again. There’s no mistaking it. Where is he? He opens his mouth to call out when a howl behind him interrupts. He turns quickly on his feet as a huge grey wolf, double the size of Conor, runs at him. Instinctually, Conor jumps backward and tries to run. The wolf leaps and drags him to the bitumen ground. His sharp teeth close around Conor’s shoulder, right where the scar from his bitemark is. Conor struggles as best he can to push the beast off, but he doesn’t budge an inch. He was never much of a fighter.  

 

There’s blood blooming from the bite mark, seeping into his shirt. Conor looks up at the wolf’s pale gold eyes and tries again to move. Maybe if he could get enough space to shift into his wolf he would stand a chance at out running him.

 

The wolf lets go of Conor’s shoulder for a moment, enough time for him to lift his head off the ground before he is slammed back down again. The back of his head hits the rough ground with a thud and his vision blacks out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright so the whole ‘Sid rushes to avenge Conor’ thing was obvs based on that Rangers game were Sid went beast mode on that guy for boarding Conor…if u haven’t seen it, it was wild. I’m glad Conor was ok. I left them unnamed in this (I’m p sure it was McDonough?) because the story aint about him anyway.
> 
> the next chapter of this might take a little while I've got some assignments to catch up on (RIP me) so sorry for the bit of a cliff hanger there.


	4. Chapter 4

Conor comes to tied up in a chair with a killer head ache. He blinks into the darkness for a few moments until his vision finally comes into focus. He’s sitting in the middle of a dim room that looks like it’s been abandoned for quite a while. All the windows have been blacked out. Just when he’s starting to adjust to the darkness, the lights flicker on. Conor flinches away.

 

He looks up and sees the werewolf back in human form. He’s leaning against wall, watching him intently. He’s wearing the same dishevelled clothes from the restaurant, but his feet are bare. He’s watching Conor with the same pale gold eyes of his wolf form, waiting for him to speak. Conor really isn’t in the mood to keep him waiting.

 

“Where the fuck am I?”

 

“Standard run of the mill abandoned building. I’m Damian, by the way.” The werewolf smiles.

 

Conor flexes against his restraints. The rope is tied around him tightly and refuses to budge. He even has a pair of silver cuffs for Conor’s wrists. The metal is already starting to rub against his skin.

 

“I just thought you might like to know, considering I’m about to become alpha of your pack.”

 

“My what?”

 

“Don’t play games with me. You can’t protect them.” Damian steps closer, smile looking a little more forces. Conor stares at him trying to figure out if anything he says makes sense. He wonders just how hard he hit his head.

 

“I don’t have a pack.” He scoffs before Conor can continue. “No, I’m serious. There’s been a mistake.”

 

“You’re a shit liar. I can smell it on you. You reek of your own pack.”

 

“I _don’t_ have one!” Conor shouts desperately. He’s being held captive and he’s sure this guy is crazy. “Look, if this is a ransom, I don’t know how much money you want but-”

 

“You think this is about money?” Damian growls. “I already told you. I want control of this territory your pack owns.”

 

“I don’t have any territory!”

 

“Of course you don’t. Your alpha does. What kind idiot werewolf are you, runt?”

 

Conor rolls his head back and blinks away his frustration. He’s trapped alone in some abandoned shed and no one knows where he is. It’s got disaster written all over it. He’s the dumbest kind of werewolf he knows.

 

“There’s been a mistake.” Conor says slowly. It must be the hormone anomaly making it smell like he’s bonded to a pack. “There’s no other werewolves around here, it’s just me.”

 

He tries to think back to the little he learnt about wolf packs years ago. Sometimes, but not always, there’s a leader of a pack called an alpha. The only way to become an alpha is to best one in a fight. It used to be to the death, but now days it’s less extreme than that.

 

“So I’m not the alpha, what do you want from me?”

 

“You’re just bait, don’t worry. You were the easiest to grab. I was surprised you even are a werewolf, you’re the smallest I’ve seen. I’ll keep you here until your pack tracks you down and then I’ll let you go. No hard feelings.”

 

Conor wants to shake him and tell him there is no one coming, but his hands are tied. The silver cuffs are starting to sting now. There’s also the dull throb of the bite on his shoulder. The blood has all dried up on his shirt in a stain that will be impossible to remove. He can also feel a bite mark on his calf where he imagined Damian dragged him away unconscious. Conor swallows down on the pain and turns to Damian again. Maybe he can talk his way out of this.

“Look,”

 

Before he can say anymore, there’s a loud banging on the door. He turns to Conor and smiles.

 

“Hey! Open up!” A crabby Canadian voice says from the other side. It dawns on Conor in both surprise and horror that that voice belongs to Sid. Damian is more than happy to strut over to the door and swing it open. He is less happy when he is immediately swarmed by several very angry hockey players.

 

Conor blinks back his confusion as he watches who he believes to be Sid, Geno, Kuni and Horny pile on top of his captor, yelling and screaming as they do so. More of his team mates are spilling though the open door, and quite a large scrum is forming.

 

“Conor!” Matt shouts as his head appears through the door way. He sprints over to where Conor is all tied up, more team mates on his heels. “Holy shit, we found you.”

 

“Oh my fucking god.” Conor says, still not believing his own eyes.

 

They start making quick work of the ropes, while Justin starts delicately trying to pry the silver cuffs off. They scrape against Conor’s skin and he winces sympathetically.

 

“Do you know if he has the key?”

 

They look over to where Tanger, Dumo and Trevor are trying their best to pin him to the floor. Geno is holding onto both his legs. There’s a bruise blooming over his cheek and a gash on his lip. Tanger is yelling at him in very angry French. Unfortunately for them, Damian shifts free with a burst of strength. His body starting to halfway transform, wolf teeth and sharp claws swiping away at the air. Everyone takes a cautious step back. No one wants to be bitten.

 

“Which one of you is the alpha?” Damian yells over the din, looking around. All the guys look confused.

 

“The what?”

 

Damian turns to look at Conor he gives him his best _what did I tell you_ , face.

 

“Who’s in charge here?”

 

Everyone looks hesitantly towards Sid.

 

“Alright, fine. I challenge you.” He points one clawed finger at Sid who looks over at Conor for some sort of explanation.

 

“He thinks you’re all werewolves in a pack with me. He wants to fight you over leader of the pack.”

 

“But we’re not,”

 

“You all reek of it! There’s no point pretending. Either fight me and I’ll let him go, or we can do this the hard way.” Damian bares his teeth and steps towards Sid threateningly. He’s a very threatening figure, easily six foot something and much bigger than Sid.

 

Sid doesn’t look phased at all. He juts out his jaw and crosses his arms.

 

“I don’t know who the fuck you are, and I don’t really get what the fuck you want, but you come here threatening my friends and you’re gonna try threatening me? I don’t know how good you are at math, but you’re outnumbered here, werewolf or not.”

 

Damian freezes and looks around, counting out just how many people there are surrounding him. It’s just about the whole team. He turns to Conor and looks him dead in the eyes.

 

“You’re a fucking freak, runt.” He scowls. “What kind of werewolf are you?”

 

He pulls a chain from his neck with a single key dangling down from it he throws it to the floor. It must be the key to the silver cuffs.

 

“A pretty shitty one, thanks for asking.” Conor smiles at him, hazarding a guess at what happens next.

 

Damian turns away, hunching over as he goes and shifting all the way over into his wolf form. His clothes all tear apart before falling to the floor. The huge grey wolf growls at them all once before making a run towards the open door. The team all jump out of the way, jeering as he goes.

 

“Don’t fucking come back, okay?” Horny leans out the doorway to yell at him as he retreats.

 

Olli grabs the key from the floor and throws them over for Justin to catch. It slides into the lock, clicks open and then the cuffs clatter to the floor. Conor sighs in relief, rubbing at the burn marks on his wrists. Everyone crowds around as he shrugs off the last of the free rope and gets to his feet. He steps gingerly on his sore leg before Rusty comes over to help him out. He looks up at his team and their concerned faces all watching him intently. He smiles. He can’t believe they’re here.

 

“How did you guys all find me?”

 

No one answers.

 

 

 

 

They load him up in Sid’s roomy back seat and drive him away. It seems like all the guys followed each other over, their cars all parked haphazardly outside the old building. Kuni jumps into the front passenger seat and starts calling someone.

 

“Yeah, we found him. He’s okay but he’s hurt. Yeah, we’re on our way now.”

 

Conor wants nothing more to go back home and crawl into bed right now. Instead, he gets driven back to the practice rink where Doctor Sundholm is waiting for them all. She takes one look at Conor, sighs, and brings him into the medic room.

 

He gets his shoulder and leg cleaned and patched up and ointment for the abrasions on his wrists.  Sundholm is confident it will all heal up fine. He’s made to go through concussion testing for his hit to the head, but so far he feels okay. He’s told it will need to be monitored. He tells Sundholm everything that happened, so it can be reported to the appropriate Lycanthrope authorities. She also listens to the rest of the team’s account of the events before she speaks to Conor again.

 

“I spoke with that specialist at the Foundation I told you about.” Sundholm informs him. “I had a speculation before, but after all this I know for sure what has happened. It will sound a little crazy, but I promise it should explain everything. You’ve formed a pack bond with the rest of the team.”

 

Conor stares at her blankly.

 

“It’s incredibly rare apparently, but it’s possible for a werewolf to form a pack with other non-werewolves. There’s only been a few documented cases of it.”

 

“Holy shit.”

 

“It explains you’re change in hormone levels, why all your team mates are beginning to smell the same. It’s because they all smell a bit more like you. You imprinted on them. It also explains your trouble hearing. Do you know much about psychic links in pack bonds?”  

 

Conor shrugs. In theory, he knows only a little.

 

“It works to make sure all the werewolves can still communicate with one another in wolf form. You hearing strange voices from your team mates is because you’ve been hearing them all in your own head. It accounts for your headaches and other symptoms too. I imagine a few others have been feeling it too.”

 

_Holy shit,_ Conor realises. He’s accidentally psychic bonded with his team mates.

 

“It might sound intimidating, but there are a lot of benefits to this. One being we can start easing you off your daily hormonal medication. You’ll still need to take shots before games, but you won’t need to worry about the rest of that with your pack around.”

 

Sundholm spends sometime after that explaining it to the rest of the team. It takes a while for them to come around. There are a lot of white board diagrams involved. Sully shows up too halfway through the team explanation, already informed about what has happened, but watching Sundholm’s explanation attentively anyway.

 

The gist of the speech Sundholm gives them is this: yes, this is a thing that can happen. No, you will not transform into wolves now, you are all still human. It might mean some strange symptoms around full moon. You should be able to feel a weak psychic connection between all of you, a lot of it will come to you instinctually don’t force it. No, your psychic abilities should not affect hockey.

 

Conor things on that last bit for a while. It’s true that communicating telepathically with the others takes a great deal of concentration not available to him when he’s focused during a game, but he can’t help but wonder what with Sid last game. He ran in to protect Conor instinctively through the pack bond before they even knew that was a thing. He’ll need to be more careful out there.

 

“So the whole psychic thing is how we tracked him down?” Tom asks. Sundholm nods. Apparently when they all found Conor missing they managed to track him down instinctively. They all got in their cars and drove, just knowing where to go without realising.

 

“How did this…pack bond…thing…even form?”

 

“It’s impossible to say a precise moment. Most likely it just developed naturally over time as you all played and spent for more around each other. If you were all werewolves it would be a lot easier to comprehend, but because you’re all human we couldn’t tell why all these things had suddenly changed.”

 

The whole team agrees this is very weird. Awesome, but very weird. More than all that they’re all glad Conor is safe.

 

“No longer a one-man wolf-pack. You mind having us all inside your head, Shearsy?” Dumo gently puts his arm him.

 

Conor looks around the room. He thinks back to the angry and hurt thirteen-year-old kid fighting for his life. He thinks about all his years spent figuring out being a werewolf alone and frustrated. He remembers signing his first real try-out contract with Wilkes-Barre. He remembers his first game called up to the NHL. His first point, his first goal. As he looks around at all the guys laughing and joking with him, all the friends he’s made so far, he wants to turn back the clock and find that thirteen-year-old kid and tell him everything is going to be just fine.

 

“I don’t think I mind at all.” Conor grins.

 

-

 

_"NOW this is the law of the jungle, as old and as true as the sky,_

_And the wolf that shall keep it may prosper, but the wolf that shall break it must die._

_As the creeper that girdles the tree trunk, the law runneth forward and back;_

_For the strength of the pack is the wolf, and the strength of the wolf is the pack."_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Maybe the real werewolves all a long were the friends we made along the way. 
> 
>  
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this little experiment into ridiculousness!


End file.
